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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25561444">i think i know you</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemejem/pseuds/jemejem'>jemejem</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All For The Game - Nora Sakavic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Andrew Rambles, Found Family, M/M, Small Towns</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:20:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,493</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25561444</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemejem/pseuds/jemejem</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Betsy—his therapist—said he was once in love. And, even worse: that it’d hadn’t faded away.</p><p>*</p><p>Andrew and Neil meet as children. Fifteen years later, Andrew has to contend with the fact that he had once been absolutely enthralled with everything that was Neil Josten, and also accept that it might happen all over again.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>454</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i think i know you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Many assumed that Andrew was an unfeeling husk, a joyless, soulless burden. And whilst that might have been fair, given all he’d seen and done, he was capable of emotion. Sensation.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Terrible, irreparable heartache.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Betsy—his therapist—said he was once in love. And, even worse: that it’d hadn’t faded away.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Andrew disagreed. He was a different person to the one Neil Josten had known as an adolescent, a man now, with more trauma under his belt and more time than he knew what to do with. Andrew left the naive, frightened child that had hoped in something unreal behind when Neil had left him behind. When he came back, it was like meeting him all over again. Trepidation, caution, accusations and poorly timed truths.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Still, no matter how many names and faces Neil had worn, and how many times Andrew had been flung through the wringer of fate, they were still the same two men at their core. Two frightened boys who had bonded over pinky-promises and silent understanding.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It was rather inevitable that Andrew would fall again.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">And thus, this is the story of how Andrew Minyard, the self-destructive monster, fell in love with the same pipe-dream twice.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">*</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Andrew’s sitting on the bar when he walks in, taller than Andrew remembers, taller than himself now, looking completely different.</p><p class="p1"><br/>And when Andrew says completely, he doesn’t mean <em>completely. </em>It’s just very noticeable. Red hair instead of black, blue eyes instead of brown, scarred skin instead of smooth cheekbones. The bone-deep paranoia is still there as his eyes flit around the room to count the exits, but he looks—stronger. Steadier. Less afraid.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He is also alone.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Andrew remembers the first time he saw Neil Josten. They were in the library, during that awful fucking summer when Andrew was 13 and Neil was just a bit younger. The library in Oakland shut just after sundown, but it was an excuse to get out of the house, at least until then. Both Richard and Cass worked during the day, and Drake hadn’t cared what time it was, so long as they would be alone and undisturbed.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Neil was thinner, shorter, terrified and tired. His mother had yanked him around by the wrist until she’d found a quiet corner, shoved him to the floor and crouched in front of him.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I will be back in two hours,” she’d said, pressing a flip-phone into his hand. “Don’t move. If anyone asks where your mother is, say she’s in the bathroom and will be back soon, and then move so they won’t ask again. Understood?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yes, Mum,” he’d said. He said Mom weird. The woman hadn’t hugged her son goodbye, instead resting her hand on his curls for just a moment before disappearing between the shelves.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Maria Josten hadn’t seen Andrew, tucked into the corner. Neither had Neil, not until she’d left. When he spotted Andrew reading, his eyes widened.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Don’t worry,” Andrew said. “I’m here on my own every day. They won’t ask.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Neil hadn’t known what to say. Later, he’d confessed to Andrew that he hadn’t spoken to another kid his age since he’d gone to school in Lyon.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">As it was, Neil just nodded, picked a random book off the shelf—Andrew recalls it being something about poetic form—and ignored Andrew’s curious stare.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Every detail of young Neil Josten is imprinted on the back of Andrew’s eyelids, whether he likes it or not. He is cursed to forget nothing, and whilst his emotive neural pathways are dull and unused, he still remembers what it was like. To see Neil multiple times a week in the library: to learn he was joining Andrew’s middle school, in the year beneath him. To have a friend.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em>A friend,</em> Andrew thinks derisively, remembering fingertips on scar tissue, bloody bandaids and bruises. Yes, he and Neil Josten were friends. Now they are strangers.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Beside him, his cousin lets out a low whistle. He’s leaning against the bar, elbows propped up. Aaron is here too, with his girlfriend Katelyn. They’re murmuring to each other, sitting with their backs to the wall in the corner. Their own little bubble. Andrew has tried to prick it: it never works. Katelyn’s stubborn, he’ll give her that. It gives Aaron more spine than he’s ever been allowed to wield, and whilst he mightn’t forgive Andrew for killing their mother, he respects that Andrew has given him some ground to stand on. Wriggle room, Betsy calls it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The four of them are hanging out. The others ought to turn up sooner or later, but other than Andrew’s family, the bar is empty.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It won’t be empty for much longer. Andrew runs this place and has for a while: snatched it off the old fucker, Wymack, when he grew tired of trying to fend off hope-starved teenagers with shitty fake IDs. Andrew decided he had nothing better to do, so now he does this: manning the only decently lively establishment in this shit-hole called Palmetto, making sure his family doesn’t get screwed over and killing time.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">There are others. Renee and her lot—Allison, the spiteful philanthropist, Dan and Matt, the infallible optimists, Kevin and Wymack (who is Kevin’s father), his wife Abby, Abby’s best friend and Andrew’s therapist, Betsy. The Sunshine folk, Jeremy, Jean, Laila and Alvarez (Kevin has only dated two of them, because the others are lesbians and together). Erik’s new in town and definitely going to be sticking around, if Nicky has anything to say about it. Thea’s been on the edge but Kevin’s weirdly obsessed with her, so if that becomes a thing Andrew assumes she’ll be sticking around too.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It’s a long list. Andrew has never expected it to become so long. He still only really talks to three of them—Betsy, Renee, and sometimes Kevin—and he’s only related to two, but the others take it seriously. It’s a <em>community.</em> They’re a <em>family.</em> Andrew, you’ve gotta come to Dan and Matt’s on Sunday, there’s a barbecue that you’re not allowed to miss because you skipped the last gathering and for some reason, tolerating the busy-bodies of Palmetto is compulsory.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It makes Andrew sick just thinking about it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He’s here because he never left. Because they’re all trailer-trash who are scraping the barrel and corroborating so they can forget about it. He doesn’t fault their happiness, it’s just never something that’s been on the cards for Andrew.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">So he’s sitting on the bar, in an empty club, doing nothing and killing time.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">And then Neil <em>fucking </em>Josten walks in.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Hey!” Nicky cheers. “You’re mighty cute for a stranger. Can we help you?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Just looking for work,” Neil says, tugging on the strap of his duffel bag. Andrew thinks it’s the exact same one. Neil isn’t looking at him, but he’s definitely feeling the laser that Andrew’s glare is drilling into his temple right now. “Just moved in. Know anywhere I can grab some shifts?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Head down the road to The Foxhole,” Katelyn piped up, and yeah, Andrew’s grown a little more comfortable with her sticking around, but right now he feels like committing bloody murder. “Dan and Matt can always use some help on weekends. It’s a coffee-shop, if you’re any good with a machine.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“It’s a start,” Neil says, then pauses. Squints at Aaron. Glances up at Andrew.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Andrew steels his expression into neutrality, so that Neil assumes Andrew doesn’t remember who he is. It feels less like moving small facial muscles and more like grinding his skin against a concrete wall. He wants to leap to his feet and grab Neil by the collar and demand him to tell Andrew <em>where he went </em>and <em>why he left </em>and <em>why is he here now.</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">But instead, he sits. He waits.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Neil leaves.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Holy <em>shit.</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">*</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The thing about small towns is that they’re a) small and b) inescapable. Andrew’s locked up Eden’s by 5 o’clock in the morning and pockets his keys, ready to fall in bed. Hopefully he’ll fall asleep immediately. He doubts it. He spent the entire night putting off thoughts about the certain flight-risk that had reappeared after <em>fifteen years.</em> Fifteen whole years. Andrew’s kinda losing his mind over it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">His car is parked behind the club but he still makes a detour, pacing quietly down the empty street. The Foxhole is the only thing awake this early: whilst it’s the town’s main cafe, it’s also a bakery. Dan and Matt arrive at 4:30 to start baking for a 6:30 opening, and Andrew’s always their first customer. Dan has perfected his coffee—decaffeinated, seeing as he’ll need to go home and sleep—and Matt always has something sweet fresh out of the oven for him.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Andrew doesn’t spend time with these people, but this is their routine. He’ll respect it. Especially when it means good food and a placebo pick-me-up to cap a productive night. It’s been this way for a while. He’s not mad about that. Not anymore.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The bell doesn’t work when Andrew shoulders his way in, despite the ‘closed’ sign pinned to the glass with a terrible drawing of a fox-paw underneath it. He shuts the door quietly.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The two of them are having a conversation, unaware of Andrew’s presence. They’re just around the door, but their voices are clear as day.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Wymack would need him more,” Dan says. “Seth just booked it and the kids are a lot to handle on his own. Besides, he seems more like the sporting type than a baker.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“We could use the help, too,” Matt’s saying. “He says he’s an early bird.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’ll talk about it with Coach,” Dan responds. “And with Neil.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Is Andrew here yet?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Dan peeks her head around the corner to see Andrew standing, arms crossed. For some reason, she looks at him with an exasperated fondness that Andrew doesn’t fucking understand. It used to be disdain. He is much more comfortable with that than whatever this is.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Of course he is.” She rounds the corner, picking up his coffee that’s perfectly hot and ready to go. Matt peeks out too, wearing a ghastly orange apron and a smear of flour on his cheek. He points at the pastry as Dan hands Andrew the coffee cup and paper bag.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Croissant surprise. I think you’ll like it.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Andrew just grunts, sliding change over the counter. Dan waves him goodbye, either unaware Andrew had eavesdropped on the conversation or uncaring. Neil’s just a random boy who’s wandered into Palmetto, looking for a job.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">But now Andrew knows two things:</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">One, that Neil’s seriously here, and two, that his name is still Neil. Or that he went back to Neil. Andrew wonders if his last name is Josten. Andrew wonders why he cares.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em>Neil Josten isn’t my real name,</em> Neil had once whispered, hiding under the covers of his bed with just Andrew and a torch. His mother had been out of town for two days, and instead of a relative coming to look after him, all Neil had was canned food, a meet-up location if anyone came to the house, another burner phone and a strict, painful warning.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Scared of an empty house, he’d asked Andrew over. Andrew, desperate to escape the confines of his bedroom, had jumped at the chance.</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1"><em>How many names have you had?</em> Andrew had asked.</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1"><em>Four, so far,</em> Neil fingers had trembled all night. <em>This won’t be the last.</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Andrew drinks his coffee and eats his pastry, leaning on the hood of his insurance-mobile. He tips his head back and stares balefully as the sky turns from black to an inky blue, then to a romantic shade of violent and finally to blush-pink.</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1"><em>Full circle, </em>he thinks.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It doesn’t really make much sense.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">*</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Nicky teaches Spanish and leads prayer and queer groups at the local school. Erik teaches there too: history, mostly, but he’ll probably start up a German class. Wymack’s been the coach there since he gave Andrew Eden’s Twilight.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Neil is, presumably, offered a place as Wymack’s assistant. He refuses, and trains with Dan and Matt instead. Someone says it’s because the parents wouldn’t like the scars, but Andrew knows better.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Even as a kid, Neil hadn’t liked kids.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He hadn’t liked Wymack sized men, either.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Andrew thinks he will be able to avoid Neil, because he’ll be helping Dan and Matt open the cafe at 6:30 rather than assisting with baking, but Andrew isn’t that lucky.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He’s leaving Eden’s, locking it behind him, another nondescript Thursday in who-knows-which-month, probably towards the end of who-cares-which-year. It’s getting colder. That’s Andrew’s only tell.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He’s rounding the club, slipping through the alleyway to get to the tiny staff parking area because he doesn’t feel like disabling the fire alarms to just slip out the back, when he sees him.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He’s across the street. Running. Jogging, actually. Black sneakers, earphones in, a windbreaker zipped up. He’s wearing tiny shorts. Andrew cannot believe he ended up growing taller than Andrew. It’s all in his legs. Fuck. <em>Fuck. </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">They’re the only ones on the street, which means any movement would be noticeable out of the corner of Neil’s eye, but it’s too late: Andrew has already pressed the button on his keys to unlock the car and the lights have flashed, turning Neil’s head just far enough to see him climb in—</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Neil stops. Stares.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Andrew busies himself with getting inside the car, pretending he hasn’t seen him, or that he just doesn’t care. Neil knows exactly who he is. As extravagant and ridiculous as it sounds, did Neil come here just for <em>him?</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Why on earth would he risk something like that? Andrew knows he’s on the run. Neil told him. He’s not backtracked to a place—they’re on the other side of the country from Oakland, California—but he’s backtracked to an identity. He’s backtracked to someone he already was. Someone he couldn’t be, at least not for long.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">As soon as they truly look each other in the eye, Andrew knows his facade will break. He is not a liar. He will not let Neil make him into one. It was shock that prevented him from storming towards him the minute he walked into Andrew’s bar. It is circumstance and exhaustion that keeps him from getting it over and done with now. But ultimately, it is inevitable.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Neil is inevitable.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">*</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">There is a small gaggle of people outside Renee’s bookshop. Chatting. Catching up. Tuning in. Andrew makes the mistake of letting Nicky reel him in to the small mob, because there’s a reason that everyone’s so interested in the glass window of Renee’s second-hand worlds, and that reason is the exact thing Andrew has been avoiding all week.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He’s small like this, surrounded by socialisation and niceties. He’s just finished his fourth shift at The Foxhole and Matt is gushing about Neil’s till skills: he can sort out all the maths at the end of the day without breaking a sweat, and Matt is not stupid, but he <em>hates </em>numbers. Dan’s too proud to say the same but quietly agrees. It’s in her grin.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Allison is getting an eyeful of all that there is to Neil Josten whilst Renee chatters amicably. Renee can turn that on and off: talk when she likes, breathes when she needs. It makes it so easy to be around her.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Robin is there too, a silent shadow. She’s still as limp as a melted candle, but settling has made her skin clearer, eyes brighter. She’s no longer in the shadow of her past. It’s helping. She likes the bookshop as much as Andrew does, but spends most of her time at her yoga studio. Presumably doing yoga. Andrew hasn’t really investigated.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Neil!” Nicky crows, immediately disturbing the conversation. The others don’t mind. They grin. Nicky’s antics are familiar to them. All of them. “How are you settling in?”</p><p class="p1"><br/>“Just fine,” Neil says, and his voice is so achingly familiar that Andrew has to breathe deeply to avoid hiccuping. He steps out from behind his cousin and Neil’s eyes finally flit over to him.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">There’s a lot to evaluate in those wave-crest irises. He’s good enough to fool the others, but not to fool Andrew. Andrew raises up his chin, but internally, he’s chanting <em>he knows I know he knows I know he knows I know.</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Andrew has never lost composure like this. It is—humiliating. To say the least.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I left my phone at Eden’s,” Andrew says. It’s very obviously in his back pocket. The keys to his car are slid into Nicky’s palm. “Go home. I’ll walk.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You sure?” Nicky always asks. Andrew doesn’t deign this with a response.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He turns to leave without a goodbye.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It takes a moment, but it finally happens. The group disperses. Andrew is far enough that he doesn’t get the details, but it doesn’t matter. There’s footsteps on the pavement behind him, faster than his own. Attempting to catch up. Andrew doesn’t slow. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">And then he’s there, falling into step at Andrew’s side. Like this isn’t prompting the collision between two Andrews in his brain. The frightened boy and the lifeless man. Like this man doesn’t still haunt Andrew’s daydreams. Like this man never made Andrew feel like he was free-falling through the air.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He had been so young. Confused. Terrified. At night, demons ravished him. During the day, Neil’s smiles were balm to chapped lips, his precious truths pulling at young Andrew’s heartstrings. <em>Tug, tug.</em> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Ouch.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He goes back to Eden’s. There’s a fire escape staircase, though its pretty squat. It doesn’t matter to Andrew. The fall isn’t enough to kill him, but it’s enough for his heart to lurch up into his throat. Fuck, he hates feeling. It’s exhausting.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He stands by the ledge, considers sitting on it and letting his feet dangle, but Neil’s too fast.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Andrew,” he says, and Andrew is fucking done.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What are you doing here?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">His tone is razor sharp. Deadly. His affectation is null and void. Most would cower: Neil just blinks.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“It’s over,” Neil says, voice hushed. Fingertips rise to his cheek. “I’m not running anymore.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“That doesn’t answer why you’re <em>here.” </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You were the only person that made me feel real,” Neil confesses, looking back out onto the street. “I was wondering what you were up to. If you were okay. I didn’t want to intrude on your life, your family, but—“</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">But they lure you in. They surround you with comfort and familiarity and stability till you forgot why you were here in the first place. Andrew knew that already.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’m not your answer.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“No, I know,” he <em>shrugs. </em>He fucking <em>shrugs.</em> Andrew hates him. He hasn’t felt this anger for a long time, but it’s there, curled up in his chest and spitting acid. “But I also figured you’d be curious about the truth.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Andrew is. Of course he is. The piecemeal confessions were enough for him as a thirteen year old boy, but he is different now. He knows his place.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I liked Neil Josten better than any other name,” Neil continues. “I like <em>him</em> better than anyone else I’ve been. It’s been a long fifteen years.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Your mother wouldn’t allow this.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Neil finally turns to look at him, with a sad smile and corpselight in his eyes. Blue, blue eyes. Andrew knows what colour they are already: he saw them when Neil took out one of his contacts to show him. <em>My mother hates them, </em>he’d said. <em>They’re my father’s eyes.</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“She’s dead. They’re both dead.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Good riddance,” Andrew says, and because he feels thirteen again, curls his fingers into the hood of Neil’s sweater. Neil just huffs, but there’s faint amusement in his eyes. Fondness, even. He knew exactly what Andrew thought of Neil’s mother.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Andrew looks back out over the street. The sun is high in the sky, but it’s windy. He feels winded. Windswept, even. Neil was the first boy he’d ever looked at and realised he might like them. Boys.Or: Neils. It made Drake’s attention bearable. No, not bearable. But necessary. He wanted to stay with Cass. He wanted to stay with Neil. But that was never going to happen. Andrew was flaying his own skin.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Neil had told him to leave. Make a fuss. Get out. He’d wanted Andrew as far from Drake’s prying eyes and hands as possible, and it took his mother ripping him away from his tentative life for Andrew to realise he couldn’t keep anything. He took a match to gasoline and didn’t look over his shoulder when pigs lead him away.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I want to stay,” Neil whispers.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Andrew knows that the fall is inevitable. He will trip and tumble, and whether or not Neil will catch him at the end, he doesn’t know.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Andrew nods. Neil’s fingers uncurl as relief scribbles itself all over Neil’s face.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">His breath hitches: he’s already falling.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Betsy’s going to have a field day.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">*</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HI IM NOT DEAD I SWEAR</p><p>also i had this concept in my brain of Andrew and Neil meeting and then reuniting, but two different approaches: I'll post that some time soon. they won't be connected, they'll just be kinda similar premises because my brain is square and idk how to put them together properly. oops.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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